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A SUMMER STORM, AND LOVE.
The foregoing conversations with Ottilia and her teacher, hard as they were for passion to digest, grew luminous on a relapsing heart.

Without apprehending either their exact purport or the characters of the speakers, I was transformed by them from a state of craving to one of intense quietude.

I thought neither of winning her, nor of aiming to win her, but of a foothold on the heights she gazed at reverently.

And if, sometimes, seeing and hearing her, I thought, Oh, rarest soul! the wish was, that brother and sisterhood of spirit might be ours.